


Greater (Than the Sum of its Parts)

by A_nonny_Minnie_mouse



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: But not quite, F/M, The cloak is a pain, almost-death, getting it together, magic is weird, relationships, surgery is more fun with magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 16,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_nonny_Minnie_mouse/pseuds/A_nonny_Minnie_mouse
Summary: When you can lose one of the most important things in your life, or sort-of-kind-of-maybe lose two, what do you choose?





	1. In which it all goes to Hell in a hand basket...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Doctor Strange is property of Marvel and the amazing artists who have come up with such a phenomenal character. I'm just playing in their sandbox, and having a blast doing it!  
> And welcome! A few notes: There are time jumps, a few accidental aussie-isms, and plenty more chapters to come, so please, fasten your seatbelts, ensure that your protective spells are ramped up, and enjoy the ride!

Just another day, another attack.

As usual, there was Wong, steadfast by his side, the other disciples spread out to guard the New York Sanctum as best as possible. Rather difficult when they were being blasted at left, right and centre. Mandalas flashed in and out of existence in microseconds. Disciple after disciple fell. And there was only so much Stephen could do to help them as he tried to weave the spell which would entrap the invaders in the Mirror Loop-one of his favourite manipulations.  
Almost there.

His eyes jumped to Christine, darting through the chaos to tend to the injured, her limited abilities enough to keep her patients from dying as her true gifts with flesh and blood worked their magic. How the hell had they got to this point?

One more tweak.

It was like the air had been sucked out of the street. Inhuman screeches filled the air, as the shades were torn from the Mortal plane into the pulsing, iridescent mandala that hovered over the square.

Then came the scream.

He turned in time to see her- _Christine, who shouldn’t ever have been dragged into this!-_ falling forward, a gaping hole where _her lumbar spine_ should have been.

He didn’t even know time had ceased its normal flow around him. Didn’t even recognise that somehow he was beside her, before she had the chance to hit the ground.

“Stephen?” She whimpered, “Oh. Oh God...”

“I’ve got you!” He retorted sharply, “Oh, _Christine.”_

“Not good...” She grimaced, “I can’t-?”

“You’re suspended, as much as I can...”

“Not even you can...fix this.”

His brain short circuited, even as the forks of time spread like a grasping, gnawing vine through his thought process, all leading to death, death, death!

Except one.

Maybe. Possibly.

Still lost, but maybe not?

“What?”

The Cloak of Levitation was around her in a second.

“Cloak? You know what this would mean?”

The Cloak ruffled in annoyance, a velvet corner reaching up to slap him.

These mandalas, these spells were the kind of thing he should have had the cloak taking the burden for, but how could it when it was the subject?

Half the subject.

And damn, repairing the neighbours’ windows was going to be expensive.


	2. In Which there is A Knock At the Door.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know how hard it is to track down a place like this?” She demanded through chattering teeth.

The New York Sanctum was bustling. Rebuilding, recreating the wards and spells which soaked into the very foundation of the building was painful, and Stephen was almost at the end of it, ready to give in, weave a spell around his ridiculous hands and walk back to the much saner world of sawing into someone’s brain. Almost.

The wooden panelling still held the scratches from Kaecilius’ brutish attempt to take it down, ones which were, by unspoken agreement, left as a reminder of their previous hubris. Relics were unsettled as they waited in their restored cases, the ones at the point of sentience almost vibrating with a need to do _something_ after what had happened to their home.

With a sigh, Stephen once again walked through the reliquary, murmuring ill-received platitudes to the shifting, clanking artefacts. The twin pistols cocked their safeties ominously, their anger palpable as he walked past the case. Heaven help if someone failed to come along and claim them soon. He may melt them down if they didn’t lay off him soon.

The cloak, at that thought, thwapped him, a heavy corner swinging up to smack into the back of his head.

 _Oh come on!_ he thought at the infernal garment, _You were thinking the exact same thing._

The aura of disapproval didn’t fade.

With a shake of his head, Stephen headed down the staircase, hoping there wasn’t too much paperwork to deal with before he was able to finally get some sleep. Being a Master definitely wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He nodded at the group of Novices wearily wandering up to their rooms, all covered in dust and grime from a hard day’s work. A few of the braver ones acknowledged the brooding sorcerer, and were promptly ignored.

The sharp knock at the door, however, was not.

The glass monstrosity, only just repaired still squealed loudly as he pulled it open. He hadn’t even realised it had been raining, but the bedraggled figure of Christine Palmer quickly alerted him to the fact.

“Do you know how hard it is to track down a place like this?” She demanded through chattering teeth.

He blinked, “No...?”

“Surprisingly, not very hard at all. Just ask where the stuff that’s weird even for New York City’s happening. You might need to work on that.” She grimaced, “Now, are you going to let me in, or were those months of emails really just you being vain?”

“Oh? Oh! Of course...” He responded dazedly, shifting the door wider, hoping the November winds wouldn’t catch it and wake the whole building, “Come this way?”

His quarters were on the first floor, down a cold, narrow corridor off the main entryway. Christine, as a result expected the same cold opulence that had characterised his old apartment, so was rather surprised at the cozy, mismatched room; A well used mahogany desk with a dragon clambering up the leg, the chair behind it was a warm green leather, and two wingback chairs were close to the currently unlit fire.

“Here,” he interrupted her musings, handing over a thick towel, and almost dragging her towards the chairs. He glanced towards the cold grate, grimaced, and a quick flash of light arced from his hand and ignited the logs in the grate.

Her eyes widened almost comically, “That was...”

“You saw me outside of my body, and _that_ is what worries you?” he teased, a flicker of glee sparking in his eyes.

With a huff, she burrowed down into the towel, grateful as the heat from the fire quickly began to overtake the room, “I’m still not sure that wasn’t a hallucination, Stephen.”

He winced, “No hallucination. Did I ever say thank you for everything you did for me that day?”

She blushed, the colour obvious on her pale cheek, “Not like I was about to let you die.”

“Still.” He murmured, the cloak floating off his shoulders to drape itself dramatically over the back of the other chair, “Don’t mind the cloak. It’s a bit of a drama queen.”

The cloak ruffled indignantly.

She chuckled, watching intently as he folded his long limbs down into the same chair, “You going to explain it to me? More than the cliff notes, if you don’t mind.”

He shrugged, “It begins with a man, C3-c4 complete severance...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for reading!


	3. In which Wong is Stumped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wong wakes up in the middle of a disaster...

Wong only had the vaguest of imprints from when Dormmamu had tried to kill them all. Existing on the cusp of humanity’s limited dimensionality, however, meant that he was still left with traces which presented themselves through screaming nightmares on nights when Kamar-Taj was just a bit too quiet. He knew many of the Disciples in Hong Kong that horrid night were in the same boat, and cursed his former friend once again for the trail of disaster he had led them all down. Being devoured was not severe enough retribution for all the misery Kaecilius and his ilk has brought to their tight-knit family.

Something about how his consciousness slowly trickled back into his mind, splintered in ways beyond even their normal skirmishes against the Dark Dimensions alerted him to just how bad this attack had been. A quick probe out into his body let him know it was just bruises and scrapes, combined with the backlash from whatever Strange had done which had lead to his current state of almost-unconsciousness.

It could only be Strange. No one else was stupid enough to try the rubbish he did. And most of the time, he got away with it.

Though, the sirens in the background suggested they may not have.

He’d best get up and divert the constabulary away from their fracas.

Damn.

And why the hell hadn’t Strange shifted them to avoid attention? Even mostly dead, the Master of New York usually had them sealed off from the curious, prying eyes of the mundane world within seconds of him completing whatever breaking of the natural order was required to deal with the threat.

Wong’s eyes snapped open.

The wedge of street he could see was a mess. Hopefully they’d be able to get away with calling it a gas mains explosion. They happened often enough with the lack of funds put into public maintenance in the Sanctum’s neighbourhood, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d used City Hall’s apathy to their advantage. What was more worrying was the number of Disciples laying, groaning on the ground, others disturbingly unmoving. Where the hell was Christine?

Pain raced like fire along his nerves as he forced himself upwards. At least this time, they wouldn’t be rebuilding. His Inner Eye showed the wards glowing strongly, their protection keeping the outpost intact, even if its people weren’t.

He stumbled, glancing along the street.

Every ounce of air left his lungs when he saw Strange, barely conscious and slumped over in the middle of the street, and the glowing maelstrom before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much coming along on this journey- things are starting to heat up! Stay tuned for the next installment (I can't wait to find out what the heck's happening myself!)


	4. In Which Coffee is Drunk and Criticised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never trust Sorcerers who don't even bother to eat to come up with a decent cup of coffee when it's needed.

“This stuff is bad.” Christine grimaced, pushing the cracked mug across the table, “And that’s from someone who lives on ER coffee.”

Stephen smirked, “Yeah, well, in between surgeon and sorcerer, just haven’t had time to update my barista qualifications on my résumé.”

She rolled her eyes, “And no one else around here has?”

“Some of the older masters don’t even eat.” He pointed out, wincing as he sipped his own coffee, “No, you’re right. That is _terrible!”_

A giggle escaped the trauma surgeon, and she leant back into the chair which, over the past week of Stephen recounting his Nepalese adventures, had become hers, “Told you.”

“Bad.” He declared with an accusing glare at the offending cup, “Doesn’t even begin to describe just how utterly appalling that is. It is an affront to every other beverage which has called itself coffee!”

“You’re the one who made it.”

“...Damn.” He groaned, “Is there a reason you’re in my office before seven on a Saturday?”

She shrugged, “What are the chances that sitting around in my apartment on my day off will be more exciting than sitting around here?”

“You have a point.” He conceded, before beckoning to the Cloak, which gleefully leapt from its hook and settled contentedly around his shoulders. He gave it an overly dramatic flick, before glancing at her.

“Coming?”

IOIOIOIOI

It was strange seeing Stephen now. There was a calmness to him which had never been present in all the years she had known him, and it was bizarre to her that it had taken the loss of his most cherished skill to find it. Of course, he was still an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, but even that was tempered in the face of the reality he’d now found himself living in.

He had taken her down into the bustling kitchen, the heavy slab of oak already packed with all the Disciples currently assigned to the Sanctum. She barely remembered to eat the hearty porridge as tales of what had driven each to seek out Kamar-Taj were woven around her, treks from all corners of the planet often on only a whisper. When he’d eventually tapped her on the shoulder, she’d had to hastily shovel in the remainder.

The outdoor courtyard was definitely far larger than it should have been from what the outside showed. Trees resplendent in their autumn finery branched over a half dozen smaller levels, each occupied by groups moving through dozens of activities which would have been impossible inside the sanctum itself. Stephen moved through each group fluidly, helping the instructors as needed. A few times, Christine found herself pulled in by the more enthusiastic students, and somehow managed to stumble through a few of the easier routines before her friend was on the move once more.

A quick stop to refuel at lunch was barely enough, and she could tell it in the previously absent tension now running over his shoulders. Tension that only increased at afternoon wore on, and which, whilst it may have been the norm for the wonder surgeon version of her friend, sat poorly with the man before her now. 

“Stephen,” She finally stated firmly as the pair finished dealing with the mess of a library, “When was the last time you left the building?”

He blinked, grimacing, “Last Wednesday?” He offered weakly.

With a shake of her head, she lifted the books from his hand, “We’re going. Right now. There are a dozen little overpriced cafes less than a hundred yards from here. I want a decent coffee, and I’m not getting it in here.”

Meekly, the sorcerer followed, not even bothering to leave the Cloak behind.

After the ordered world of the Sanctum, Greenwich Village was almost overwhelming. Droves of students crowded the sidewalks, making their way up to NYU in a thrumming mass. Determined, Christine grabbed his hand and pulled him off the threshold and into the crowds. Quickly, she acquired two coffees to go from the shop next door. They were surprisingly good despite the lack of proper dairy, and the overpopulation of hipsters crowding the tables as they hastily departed.

 “I promise it’s not usually like that.” He commented, a hand running over the fetching goatee he’d acquired during their time apart, “Another few weeks, and it should be back to how it was before the attack. Or at least how they tell me it was.”

“You never got to visit here before?” She inquired, grateful for the warmth of the cup as a particularly cold breeze shot down MacDougal, omens of a nasty winter to come.  

“Not my place to know.” He replied lightly.

“The old you would have been incensed at that line.” She noted.

He snorted, glancing towards the clouds beginning to gather overhead, “The old me would have cast a spell on these ridiculous hands and walked out in a heartbeat.”

“So what’s changed?”

“Nothing.” He exhaled, his feet stopping on the pavement, even as the crowds continued to swirl around the pair, “Everything. I ask myself that question every day.”

She blinked slowly, brushing a chestnut lock off her face, “And do you like the answer?”

“I’m terrified it might change one day.” He admitted frankly, before his eyes locked on her with a gaze she had never seen him wear before. “I think I’m now terrified of a lot of things.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, quick clarifications: I have yet to read the comics (They are arriving in the mail some time this week), but I am trying to pull Cannon in where relevant, and the Sanctum's address is one place which definitely deserves a spot. I am also an Aussie, so spelling is intentional, as if I try and use US spellings, I end up in trouble with the real world...   
> Once again, thank you so much for taking the time to read!


	5. In Which There is Much Cursing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's a bit of a mess...

“Well, _shit.”_ Wong cursed, looking at the mess sprawled out on the footpath before him, “Is anyone else alive?!”

A chorus of answering groans was heard from around the street. The Librarian barely paid a glance to the battered sorcerers and sorceresses as they pulled themselves wearily to their feet, moving to triage those more brutally injured and maimed in the fallout.

His attention was wholly on the swirling disaster in front of him.

“What the _fuck_ did you do, Strange?” He wondered aloud, jumping when the man in front of him responded.

“Saved her. The only way I could. The Cloak agreed.”

“Just because a mystical object with more sass then sense agrees to something _doesn’t mean you should do it!!_ ” Wong yelled, becoming more terrified the deeper he peered into the complex spell his friend was maintaining.

_“I HAD NO CHOICE!!”_ Strange yelled back, before his face feel slack, the lines of the past few years etched deep in the crimson glow he was barely controlling.

Wong’s bald head shook in disbelief, “You shouldn’t even be able to hold it. _How_ are you holding it?!”

“Amazing what love will let you do.” He retorted through gritted teeth, “Get Huilang and Cassie. Now.”

IOIOIOIOI


	6. In which there is Roping in on many fronts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are kidding, right? Right?” Stephen blurted, “This is like that time when you wanted me to come to Thanksgiving with your third cousin once removed. The one with the weird tic who looked like he wanted to murder me.”

“You are _kidding,_ right? Right?” Stephen blurted, “This is like that time when you wanted me to come to Thanksgiving with your third cousin once removed. The one with the weird tic who looked like he wanted to murder me.”

“In the same way that, yes, it was something I actually wanted-no, needed- you to do? Yes. Yes it is.”

“Christine.” He began, turning to lean against the stair’s rail, already adorned with an overabundance of tinsel on the first day of December, “Despite everything I’ve told you, you really think this would be a good place for her? _Please_!”

“And going back to the gangs is?!” She huffed, “She’ll be dead within a year!”

“She could be dead in _six months_ here! We are _not_ a charity for the dispossessed of New York City!” he retorted.

“Never said you were, Stephen.” She snapped, “But this? People who might actually give a damn about her? That might make those six months worth living for. Right now, there’s nothing, and in six hours she will be discharged, walk out those doors and the next time I see her will be in a body bag.”

He paused, turning towards her, “You see hundreds of cases like hers every day. Thousands in a year. All dead men and women walking. What makes her so special?”

Inside, she did a small victory dance, “Come and meet her and see.”

IOIOIOIOI

Beneath the bruises and scratches, there was a fire in the woman’s  eyes.

“Cassie O’Dowd.” Christine read off, “GSW to the abdomen, expected full recovery bar one lost spleen.”

Stephen nodded, “Typical for this kind of case.”

“Second time around, not as bad as the first.” She quipped lightly, brushing an ebony black curl back from her forehead, “So what can you do for me, Doc?”

Christine glanced across at him, eyes quirking when she saw the small furrow in his forehead she had learned over the past month meant he was doing something with the Arts. She had yet to decide if she wanted to know.

Finally, he blinked, returning to the room and quirking an eyebrow, “Latent talent by the shovel, something I’ve never seen before, and just enough desperation that it might work. I suspect if she’d had the funds, we’d have found her on the doorstep of Kamar Taj regardless.”

“Doc?” She asked uncertainly, wincing as she pushed herself up on the bed, “What’s this about?”

Stephen gazed directly at the young woman, “How would you feel about a place at a Nepalese monastery? There’s-“

“Away from here? Sold.” She cut off, moving to pull herself off the bed, “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Christine interjected sharply, halting the sorcerer’s move to help her down, “You’re not healed enough to-“

“If I don’t move now, I’m dead anyway.” Cassie stated flatly, looking around, and with a quick flicker of her hand, a portal opened up, showing a group of skin head thugs posted ominously outside the hospital.

“Portals. I’m impressed.” Stephen commented, his voice slightly strangled in his throat.

She blinked, letting the swirling schism fall shut and collapsing back onto the mattress, “Not quite the reaction I was expecting.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to have to skip the basics with you.” He retorted snarkily, turning and grabbing her chart from Christine’s hands.

“Hey!” She scolded, and was promptly ignored.

His lips pursed, as he poured over the barely legible scrawl left by the other attending physicians, “From what I can read of your energy states, if I take you through a portal it will kill you.”

She glared, “I know that. I would have been gone hours ago if I could have. Those enforcers know it too.”

“What are they capable of?” Christine asked sharply.

“Guns. Knives. Not the stuff I can do, that why they’re making sure they get me. Or kill me.” She shrugged with a false indifference, “Comes with the territory.”

“Right. Right...”

“Back door?”

“There’s no way she can walk half of Manhattan, even if I hide us from their view.” The sorcerer analysed, before pulling his cell out and texting the Librarian. The reply came almost instantly, and Stephen grimaced. 

“How long until Wong gets here?” Christine asked, beginning to detach the girl from the half-dozen machines, “Also, any plan on how we explain this?”

“Nope. I’m just following you. And Wong's saying around ten minutes. In between complaining like a five year old." 

“That’s quite reassuring, thank you.” she sarcastically snarked, “Any mystical tricks in your bag of tricks we can use?”

“Use them quick.” Cassie interjected with a fierce whisper, “That’s a ‘cousin’.” She nodded towards a burly, tattooed man looming over the nurses’ station, dwarfing the six foot tall orderly currently stationed at the desk.

The two exchanged a panicked glance, “We’ve got to go.”

Carefully, they helped the injured woman to her feet, and into one of the wheel chairs lined neatly at the end of the hall. Trying to shift innocuously towards the door instantly failed, and dead, murderous eyes locked on them.

“Hang on, I have an idea.” Christine hissed, before heading straight for the thug, “Hi, are you Cassandra O’Dowd’s family? I need to talk to you immediately about the bill.”

“I’m busy-“ The thug growled, endeavouring to circumvent the petite doctor and intercept the pair hastily heading towards the corridor.  

Despite her heart nearly thundering out of her chest, she quickly positioned herself between the man and her quarry, “This _really_ can’t wait, sir. She is on her way for another scan, and without a prepayment or permission from her insurance, and your co-pay, there’s just no way we can provide her with the care she needs.”

A growl emanated from him. And then stopped, eyes suddenly slipping over her. Confusion clouded his twisted, ugly face, quickly replaced by a burning fury, and he stormed off the ward without a word to the nurse.

The breath she hadn’t realised she was holding exploded from her lungs, and she quickly took off into the warren of corridors only those who had worked at NYP for years had a chance at successfully navigating. It became clear rather quickly that whatever the pair had done to her was sticking, as she had to duck and dive out of the way of every person who wandered the hallways.

“If you wouldn’t mind un-disappearing me?” She grumbled as she finally stumbled upon the pair in an obscure loading dock near the morgue. Immediately she noted how pale Cassie had become.

A flicker of a mandala, and a frown from Stephen, “Done.”

“And Wong?” she asked.

At that moment, a screech of tyres echoed through the dock, and with a flash, an old Mustang was before them, the Librarian looking smug behind the wheel, “Rescue mission for one Doctor Strange?”

“You took your time...” the sorcerer complained, gently lifting their patient into the backseat. She barely managed to secure her seatbelt, and offered the pair a wan smile. Quickly, Christine and Stephen were in, and Wong managed to pull a squealing u-turn despite the size of the dock.

“You remember, we can’t portal with her, right?” Stephen double checked.

Wong’s tongue clicked in annoyance, “Of course I remember. Do you really think I would bother to bring this old beater out if we could transport her through more civilised routes?”

"Hey!" Stephen objected, "She's a classic. A beauty!" 

“Back to matters at hand?” Cassie reminded, “They’ll be waiting.”

“How many are we talking?” Wong interrogated.

“Everyone by now. All the Westies in Manhattan, and every one from the Burroughs they could call in on short notice.”

“And we’re supposed to sneak her past them?” Wong sighed, “The things I do for you, Strange.”

“Just drive.” He snapped back.

As they exited the dock, it was obvious Cassie hadn’t been exaggerating. It wasn’t difficult to pick out the still, silent figures from the bustle of 7th Avenue.

“At least we paid to have the windows tinted.” Stephen commented with false gaiety.

“Won’t matter if they coerce one of the other Grannys into finding me...” Cassie sighed, “It was good whilst it lasted.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Stephen growled, “We didn’t come all this way just to give up at the first group of thugs sent our way- even if we are only three blocks from Hell’s Kitchen.”

“If you can’t shift us, can you shift them?” Christine suggested, her hands automatically moving to take the young woman’s pulse. Far too thready. Not much chance of her remaining conscious more than a few minutes. And that’s if they were lucky.”

“In this traffic, we’re looking at half an hour home, Strange.” Wong pointed out, “And this is why I don’t like driving in New York.”

“I get it!” The sorcerer finally snapped, glaring at the others, “Just, for Chrissake, give me a minute to figure out how the hell to do this without earning another reprimand from his nibs here for breaking reality!”

They could see it in the iridescent shimmer that came over the thugs, the way the uneasy glances of the public evaporated like water drops in the height of summer.  A silent prayer that it would take them just long enough to notice what was happening to let them get away with it, as ridiculously audacious as it was to just drive past.

The traffic jam finally broke, and Wong was moving like a flash, dodging between the other cars as quickly as he possibly could, squeezing into gaps that really should never have been possible.

And then, one thug looked at exactly the wrong time.

“Stephen...?!” Christine’s voice rose in alarm, just as Cassie slumped over in her seat, the last of her energy expended to get them to this point.

“Five more minutes.” He snapped, watching anxiously as the streets ticked down, and they finally entered the Village- home turf should the worst come to it. Surely they couldn’t have come this far from their base?

“Inside. Quickly.” Wong announced, barely bothering to pull on the handbreak as they pulled up in front of the Sanctum.

The unconscious woman was scooped up from her seat, and the trio turned towards the front doors. Three steps across the pavement, and there was a cough from beside them.

“I believe you have my sister there. I want her back.” A man in a finely tailored suit said lightly, a haggard, underfed old lady’s arm grasped harshly in a claw-like hand. Oily brown hair slicked back over a dented and scarred head, and cruel, bloodthirsty eyes gazed out from sallow skin, “Come now, I really don’t want this to come to bloodshed.”

“Not that there’s any way we’re going to let you have her, but, just out of curiosity, why her?” Stephen asked, unable to stop a note of genuine inquisitiveness entering his voice.

“I am _always_ possessive of my Grannys. Especially the blood relative ones. Not exactly easy to conjure up another one, at least not in this day and age. And for some reason, when I force them to make me a new batch, they break a bit. Such a shame. What with all this new-age technology they use to try and stop us, they seem to forget that the Old Ways were around for so long because they worked. And they work particularly well when one has all of the cosmos at one’s beck and call.”

“Really?” Stephen asked with a quirk of his head, sparing a glance for Christine and feeling the shaking of her frame despite how hard she was trying to curtail it, “Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.”

And between one breath and another, they were inside the safety of the Sanctum.  

IOIOIOIOI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! A wee bit of a delay with this one, as pantomime rehearsals and submissions went slightly haywire... luckily, new chapter! Words can't express just how much receiving your feedback and kudos means to me, so a massive thank you for taking the time to come on this crazy journey with me!


	7. In Which there are gritted teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanging around in the street isn't doing favours for any of them...

It took Cassie one look at the tangled mess of spells before she was ready to slap Strange. Even though she still found Granny Magic far more natural and intuitive than the Eastern Variant, she could still pick out the main threads entangling the glowing disaster she had been called in to rectify.

Huilang, her usually impeccable hair an absolute disaster gazed worriedly over at her, “You seeing what I’m seeing, love?”

She nodded, indicating for someone to grab supplies from inside the house, “God, it’s insane. All three of them. Can you pick any of it out?”

“Nope. We need to get them into the Asylum.” she glanced around, plucking the stretcher from the hands of its carrier, send it soaring through the air and catching it with a loud thwack.

“You know we can’t risk touching them?” Cassie reminded, lips pursed, before her eyes lit up in inspiration, “You think moving the ground from under them will be enough?”

“It has to be- he needs help to finalise it, and we can’t exactly leave him out in the street whilst we find enough raw power to help him out.”

“Of all the stupid-!” she cursed, weaving the knots and braids that characterised her magic into being, “I have the stretcher ready.”

The ground slowly began the collapse, a strange whirling twist as the ground slid into the Mirror dimension just enough to let them get the poles beneath.  The other Disciples gathered round, a beaten, battered group, but at least they were alive, and that was only thanks to the efforts of the duo now lost to the spell woven around them. There was a collective gasp as Cassie slowly restored the ground below, nodding to confirm to the rest that their actions hadn’t worsened the situation.

“I’m okay to walk, before you go getting any ideas.” Strange suddenly informed them through gritted teeth, still barely connected to reality, “Just move. Now.”

Two of the least injured disciples were immediately grasping the vacant poles of the stretcher. It was obvious that Strange was only tethered to the reality around them by the slightest of threads, and the distant, panicked look in his pale eyes said just as much as his unnaturally jerky movements. The layers of mandalas enveloping the stretcher became even more complex as they moved through the wards of the Sanctum, and into the depths of the building.

The hairs on the back of Cassie’s neck crackled as they entered the Asylum, and she couldn’t tell whether the magic soaked into this core of the house was helping or hindering the Master of New York. Considering who was the focal, she was rather hopeful that it was the former.

“All of you, out.” Strange snapped.

“Are you-“

“OUT!” He snarled, a wave of _push_ hitting all of them, and they were on the other side of the despairingly solid door.

“Good god...” Huilang exhaled, sliding down the opposite wall, “What the _fuck?_ ”

Cassie shook her head, “I don’t know...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Stephen, Stephen, Stephen! What the heck have you done?


	8. In which there is an excessive quantity of wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassie's made it back, and has a request...

"So...is there a reason it’s called the Asylum? And not something more...normal?” Cassie asked, from where she was nestled within the mountain of crisp linen and fluffy pillows. Monitoring mandalas pulsed gently over her head, finally stable after the chaos of her arrival the week before.

Stephen pulled himself away from the windows, scrutinising her with his crystal blue eyes, “There are plenty of physical injuries here- mostly minor, luckily; but more common, and far more dangerous are the injuries to the mind, and this room has been imbibed with enough layers of spells to make healing possible here where there is, as far as I am aware, no other places on the planet where it would be even remotely viable. Spells which can’t harm, ergo why we could bring you in here as drained as you were.”

Cassie nodded, “The Cousins would grab women-well, girls really- off the street, and force the Elder Grannys to train them in the Old Ways...So many broke. I wonder if something like this could have saved them...”

“I don’t know.” He responded honestly.

She shrugged, “After what the Grannys are subjected to, I doubt many would want to.”

Stephen grimaced, “I’ve always been told my worst failing as a doctor is my bedside manner. But, if you need to talk about it...?” He trailed off awkwardly.

“At the least it will let you know what you’re up against, right?” She confirmed, “Lorcán, the current leader is my brother. Well, half brother, but as my supposedly monstrous Cuban mother seduced his good, virtuous Irish Catholic father, he had her executed. I’ve been training as a Granny as long as I can remember. There were other girls. Scared, wisps of things...Not many of them lasted more than a month, and whatever remained was passed on to his lackeys as ‘rewards’. The ones who survive become the key part of the Family’s shipping routes. Anything and everything- drugs, people, weapons, money...Wills broken so badly there was no chance of them not complying. I know some of the elder Grannys were used to portal the enforcers into the cells of snitches and dispatch them. There was one- Camarda, who would reach into people’s minds and drag information out. She could stop a man’s heart with a glare. Not even exaggerating on that one. Weak ones who would get better yields in the hot houses. There were others who could cast a veil of obliviousness over the heat, and others who would end up distorting reality without even meaning to. _He_ never did figure out a way to harness those ones...”

“And you?” He asked, half terrified at the answer.

She shuddered, “Personal paranormal valet to my darling brother. At his beck and call every minute of every hour. Not fun when I was required to sit outside his bedroom in case his latest lady happened to be a plant from one of the other gangs. Only happened once, but that is one image I wish I could erase from my brain...”

Recalling the brutish man who had confronted them, he shuddered, “Understandable. Very understandable.”

She winced, “Sorry, wouldn’t wish that one on anyone. Except a few of the enforcers. Bastards.”

“You have a place here, you know?” Stephen pointed out, “As long as you want it.”

“Yeah. And in Kamar-Taj?”

“When you’re ready. He reassured, moving to leave.

“Oh!” She yelped, “Would you be able to find me some knitting needles and wool? Just to keep my fingers busy.”

“Of course.”

IOIOIOIOIOI

He returned the next day, laden with a dozen bags from some of the finest purveyors of yarn in the city, all stuffed to the brim with balls and skeins in a literal rainbow of colours. She gaped. As did Christine from her chair beside the young woman.

“Did you buy out the entire city?!” Christine squeaked.

Cassie seemed too overwhelmed to say anything.

The Master of New York shuffled uncomfortably, “I was researching last night, and there were so many options, and when I asked at the shops, they all suggested something different, and I didn’t want you to run out whilst you were stuck here, so...”He shrugged helplessly, looking at Christine’s expression.

“I think you may have just broke her...” Christine noted lightly, “Did you at least get needles?”

He brightened slightly, “These ones are nickel plated, then there’s these bamboo ones, wooden, and, my personal favourite material, carbon fibre!”

The two women locked eyes, and burst out laughing.

Looking mildly baffled, the sorcerer flopped into a chair, eyeing the still giggling women warily, “At least I tried...”

“No! No, it’s just the volume. This is enough for months. Years, even.” Cassie reassured, “And this isn’t exactly the cheap stuff, either.”

“Actually,” Christine paused, evaluating her words carefully, knowing it could send their barely healed relationship into a tailspin, “Have you considered trying knitting?”

“Really?” He asked, baffled, then glanced down at his still painfully shaking hands, “Really?”

She shrugged, “Only a few studies have looked into it, but it could be worth a shot to at least improve your dexterity? Not to mention, I need a new beanie.”

“What happened to your old one?”

“Got eaten by moths. I was not impressed.” She replied, “As for me, I look at a ball of yarn and it tangles. My Grandma gave me up for a lost cause when I was fifteen.”

“What do you say, Doc?” Cassie cajoled, a wide grin breaking over her face, “Can I bring you over to the dark side?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a physio, but I do know of people who have had knitting prescribed as OT/physio exercises with great success. From personal experience, the strength and dexterity in my fingers increased almost exponentially when I started knitting and crocheting. And yes, carbon fibre needles are a real thing, and my personal favorite needles to knit with- Strong enough not to snap, but not cold like metal pins, which can make your hands tired very quickly.  
> Once again, thank you so much for taking the time to read and leave feedback- deciding where to break this chapter has been driving me crazy for days, so I hope you enjoy it!


	9. In Which Tea is Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, tea helps make it all better.   
> This may or may not be one of those times.

All of a sudden, she was _awake_.

Well, sort of.

There was no transition, no gradual slide into consciousness, and, more importantly, the blinding pain in her back was gone. The Sanctum’s courtyard garden was in full bloom around her, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. A far cry from the frozen tundra it had been when she had fed the koi that morning.

“My dear, come sit.” Came a voice from the balcony. Turning, she gasped. The woman who had died under her hands nearly half a decade before was lounging at a wrought iron table she was pretty sure didn’t exist in her home today.

“You’re-“ she began, stopping herself.

“Dead?” the Ancient One pursed her lips, unconsciously pulling the golden robe around her lithe form, “I suspected as much. Though the same should have been said of you. That is, if your husband wasn’t as stubborn as the day I met him. Come, sit.”

Too overwhelmed to argue, she slumped into the cushioned chair, eyes drinking in the riot of colour, and trying in vain to process the events of the day.

“Tea?” the Ancient one offered, pouring with expert grace at her nod, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know...One minute I was healing Tomas after Lorcán sent another Shade attack at us, and then...” She blinked, her brain screeching to a halt.

“You were hit.” The Ancient One concluded with a sigh, “And rather badly, I hate to add. Stephen has you in The Asylum, and all the magic in that room may not be enough for what he is trying.”

She thudded back into her chair, “Damn.”

“Indeed.” The Sorceress supreme agreed lightly, “You know, up until I heard you calling out through time, I wasn’t truly sure about him.”

“Stephen? Seriously?”

She chuckled, “Indeed. In all my long years, I don’t believe I have ever come across someone so... _dichotomous_ as he is. I very nearly refused him entry to Kamar Taj as a result... In all the years I charted his path through this universe, and the consequences it has wrought, I questioned how he was able to reconcile those two halves of himself, where I have struggled so long.” Her wizened eyes examined the woman before her, “Perhaps it is that I did not have someone to walk my path beside me. Choice and circumstances, before you start becoming concerned.”

“Ah.”

“And as for you...” she said crossly, and the Cloak of Levitation guiltily unfolded itself from where it had been hanging inconspicuously over the cherry tree, and flopped dramatically onto the table, “What on earth were you thinking?!”

The cloak ruffled itself, and a sense of indignation and frustration erupted in the back of her head, “Wha-?” She blurted, looking at the sentient garment in alarm.

The Ancient One quirked an eyebrow, a soft smirk settling on her features, “Between your husband and this infernal piece of cloth, I have no idea how you keep your sanity. They are bending reality in ways that I can barely comprehend to try and save you.”

She shuddered, remembering the searing pain that had torn through her, “I’m a goner.”

“Perhaps not.” The Sorceress disagreed, her hands tracing over the patterns woven into the velvet, “We have a long history, this garment and I...I was there the day they cut the warp from the loom, barely a girl myself. Destined to be the robe of an Emperor, but for some reason, thought itself better than that. And look where we are now.”

Her hands wrapped closer around the cup, inhaling the perfume deeply. It should have alarmed her that there were almost familiar markings glowing beneath her skin, but she found she couldn’t- not when she was so precariously balanced between life and death, “And where is that?”

 


	10. In Which a Gift is Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of Stephen's hard work, in a brown paper package tied up with string.

It was almost a week later when she hastily slipped into the break room, to find a small gift bag hanging over the handle of her locker. Curiously, she flopped down at the table, and pulled out the card;

_Christine,_

_Thank you for being there for me even when I didn’t deserve you. I hope one day I can be as good a friend to you as you’ve been to me._

_-Stephen._

The handwritten note still showed the tremors, but some of the flow that once characterised his ridiculously elegant hand was there. The words, however, warmed her heart in ways she could barely begin to describe. And then she opened the package within, wrapped in brown paper which she eagerly ripped into.

“Oh...” She exhaled, as the gift fell onto the battered table.  When she’d joked that about needing a new hat for the winter, she hadn’t expected him to follow through, but the soft, grey beanie before her said otherwise. Scooping it up, it felt impossibly cosy in her hands. She could see the unevenness, the occasional missed stitches and the points where the needles had pierced through the fibres rather than catching the loop. The patterning lost its sequence over and over, but as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t be more perfect.

“Christine?” Came Nick’s voice from the door, “The new board members will be here any minute- you coming?”

Face flushing, she slipped the woollen garment into her pocket, and moved to follow her colleague back into the bustling corridors, “Of course, sorry. I can’t even remember what I came in here for...”

“So who was the gift from?” the neurosurgeon probed, even as he deftly shifted out of the path of a racing trauma team.

She smiled, feeling the weight of said object reassuringly resting in her pocket, “Would you believe me if I said Stephen?”

“Strange?” He blinked, “After he came in with that fall victim, I assumed he’d fallen off the face of the planet himself. You kept in contact?”

“Yeah.” She confirmed, “We lost touch for a while there, but... he’s back in New York now.”

“You dating him again?” Nick probed.

“What?!” She exclaimed.

The other surgeon shrugged earnestly, “You two always had this weird dynamic happening. I mean, I know you dated a while back, but it was always weird to me that you stopped.”

She chucked, “Let’s just say, Stephen had a _lot_ of shit to work through. We were better off as friends.”

“Were?”

“A-hem!” Interrupted the raspy voice of the Department head, a broad man who had been in the job so long, no one could exactly remember a time when he wasn’t present. Immediately, the two surgeons were facing forward, ready to greet the dignitaries in the overly sanitised version of reality they were expected to portray to the uninitiated members of the public.

“And now we reach our critical care department,” The Chief’s voice boomed through the ward, “I believe we have some of our best trauma surgeons on hand to meet you.”

Compared to most other funding rounds, this party was tiny. However, what set Christine’s heart thundering into her throat was the boss of the Westies sauntering along at the head of this particular delegation.

“Allow me to introduce one of our ER team leaders, Doctor Palmer, and our current head of neurology, Doctor West.”

However, it was obvious from the way he spared not a glance for Nick, whilst his dead eyes remained locked on Christine that he recognised her from the Bleecker Street standoff.

“-Has just made a rather substantial donation to our facilities here, so I hope that you will be most accommodating in demonstrating just how those funds have been put to use.”

“Of-of course.” Christine said with a tiny stutter. An overly manicured eyebrow was raised in her direction. She quickly busied herself with their recently purchased endoscopic robot, glad she’d had enough experience with the machine that she didn’t have to overthink the explanation, as she tried to figure out how the _hell_ the head of the Westies had managed to get himself on to the board of her hospital.

IOIOIOIOI

The shift finished in the aftermath of a violent six-car pileup in the Lincoln Tunnel. Dumping her cell onto the bench, she began to strip off the bloody scrubs ready for washing (or, considering the damage wrought, destruction), only for the device to start vibrating frantically;

_S under attack. Stay away-Cassie_

She flopped onto the bench, almost nauseous as her heart thundered in her chest. It wasn’t that they weren’t prepared-on the contrary, Stephen had admitted that he expected a fight sooner rather than later, especially as the other Sanctums were still in such rough shape, and the resulting preparations they had gone through to make certain that the current bastion of paranormal safety for the planet would hold had been meticulous.

 Somehow, she’d always thought she would be there when the attack finally came.

Dwelling on the situation, however, would help no one, so she hastily redressed into her street clothes, battered and comfy after a long shift, and a welcome change from the polyester nightmares the hospital had recently introduced, and laced up her heavy winter boots. The beanie felt wonderfully soft and warm as she pulled it over her head, tucking her ears beneath the band, and she quickly picked her backpack and made her way towards the station.

IOIOIOIOI

Luckily, it was only a half-hour commute back to her two bedroom apartment in Jackson Heights, bought brand new by her Great Aunt Mildred and her GI husband just before the war, and when he hadn’t returned home, she had refused to leave up until the day she died. The planes roared overhead at all hours, off to destinations only in her dreams had she ever had the time to visit, but at least she didn’t have to deal with the exorbitant rents that characterised the current real estate market, and the neighbours were not overly nosy. It had been an absolute blessing at the start of her career, and she had yet to find a viable reason to leave.

When she finally stumbled back out into the chilly streets, what little stamina she had left was completely gone. Her feet dragged as she turned onto 84th Street, the trees lining the road standing silently, branches bare in the winter freeze that had taken the city rather suddenly this year. The first Christmas lights were glinting in the windows, bringing a soft smile to her face as she finally approached her door.

Then, the lights fizzled out. The sound of the wind in her ears ceased. The ever present thrum of traffic fell silent.

_Should have known._ She mentally berated herself, slipping her hand into her pocket, and pressing blindly at the screen in the hopes that she might get through to _someone_ who might be able to help her.

“Well, well, well...” Came a cackling old voice from behind her, lilting and strange in the intonations, “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a scrap of a girl.”

Reluctantly, Christine turned. Not _quite_ what she was anticipating, though at this point, she could barely articulate exactly what it _was_ she expected.  The ancient woman before her could have stepped out of the pages of the history books on the Potato famine she’d been forced to read a half dozen times in school. There was something almost faded about her, something which set her nerves on edge with the sheer... _iniquity_ the woman exuded.

“May I help you?” She asked, hoping that maybe, just once, the ignorance card might pay off.

A hacking, wheezing laugh erupted from the stooped frame, “Oh, come now, dearie. You have done _wrong!”_ Something malicious began to sizzle in the air, and Christine prayed the call had got through, “And now, you need to learn your place. Such a shame.”

And the air began to _glow_. An insane, black glow-almost like the non-black of a cheap TV which her brain was having a _very_ difficult time comprehending. It pulsed, Celtic knots distorted as they came towards her.  The iciness of the December night was nothing compared to what rolled off the twisted spells the woman was binding into the fabric of reality.

_Wrong._ A part of her mind screamed. This was _dangerous_ magic. None of the safeguards she’d seen Stephen work into his were there, even her novice understanding could have told instantly even if her gut wasn't screaming bloody blue murder. And she _knew,_ the glint of insanity in the women’s half-white eyes laying it out plain as porridge, that she had not compunctions about the families in the surrounding apartments, that to her twisted mind, they existed only as collateral to serving whatever purpose had driven her to seek out the trauma surgeon.

And that part of her mind started screaming. Her hands began to spin the threads she hadn’t been able to see a split second before.

There was a pause in the old woman’s advance, “You can fight back. Good.”

_Oh **shit,**_ She thought, knotting the threads of the spell she was _very_ certain she had no clue about came together under her deftly moving hands. It was almost like working with the body- certain systems could be cajoled into tasks, and by good heavens, was she cajoling as _damn bloody hard as she could._

And the night erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You do not know how much this chapter has been driving me insane! For those who are curious, the beanie is made from an angora/merino/alpaca mix in a natural grey colour. Currently a (neat) version is being drafted and knitted, and at some point I'll put up the pattern and a photo once it's actually finished :)   
> Once again, words aren't sufficient to describe just how much your kudos, subscriptions and comments mean to me, so a massive THANK YOU for coming on this journey with me. I'm honestly wondering what the HECK is going to happen next- perhaps the best place for a writer to be! <3


	11. In Which there are tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the Asylum, he's fighting.

It would have been impossible to hold the tears in as he worked over the tangled disaster of his own making, so he didn’t. Frantically, he folded the layers of reality, desperately seeking a combination which would work. The glow surrounding Christine was almost blinding, a rolling heat that seared his skin as he toiled to bring it all together.

He was drained.

So drained.

And alone for the first time in years.

Perhaps this was his punishment?

He remembered Mordo, before the man had abandoned The Arts, and his conviction that the bill would come due one day.

Was this it?

Was this how he- how _they_ had to pay for trying to protect the planet and everything they held dear? Was this the cost of merely surviving as long as they had? His exhausted brain kept throwing the taunts up from his subconscious, each tearing at his soul with their implications.

It was all his fault.

And because of his stupidity, he was about to lose two of the best things to ever happen to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Stephen...


	12. In Which the Not Very Nice Person is Dealt With (for now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The middle of Queens is really not the best place for an all-out fight to the death between magic users. Shame no one told Camarda that...

“Okay, _what the hell?!”_ Cassie yelped, stopping at the edge of the darkness enveloping half the thoroughfare.

Stephen blinked, “I was _not_ expecting that...”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She replied sarcastically, beginning to weave the Celtic knotting to probe into the foreboding gloom before them. Whilst Stephen could only pick up on some parts of what she was doing, he quickly latched his own mandalas into the complex twisting of reality.

“I take it you’ve seen this before?” he surmised

“You remember me mentioning Camarda?” She prompted, “This is her work.”

“A signature move?”

“Can’t you taste it?” She asked, surprised, “On the back of your throat? It’s acrid and horrid, almost like a house where something nasty died years ago, and nobody bothered to come back after and take away the corpse.”

“Now you mention it...Ugh!” His face contorted, trying to get the vile tang out of his mouth, “What the hell?”

“Ancient, likely bathes in the blood of the innocent, what do you expect? For the air around her to be sunshine and kittens?” She scolded, finally exhaling as a shimmering tunnel of light pierced through the darkness.

“Once more unto the breach.” Stephen quipped, racing behind Cassie.

The centre of the darkness was ablaze. Christine was crafting webs of spells and flinging them almost faster than the other two could have followed in normal time. But her opponent was slamming wave after wave after wave at her, any thoughts towards finesse and preserving the natural order long forgotten in the midst of what appeared a very literal fight to the death.

Well.

That was new. And a bit unexpected.

With a yelp, Cassie dodged an errant spell fragment, looking at the stupefied Stephen with mouth agape.

“What do we do now?!” she demanded.

“Contain it.” Stephen replied firmly, knowing that Christine would not forgive him if any harm came to the muggles in the surrounding apartments- heck, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Slotting the containment spell between the contorted structure Camarda had constructed should have been impossible.

_There._ Came the helpful nudge in the back of his head from The Cloak. Gratefully, he took the suggestion, grinning just a bit smugly as it all came together, and they were shifted into the Mirror Dimension, where hopefully they could keep the maniacal witch from wrecking any more havoc.

Or it would be like the case with Kaecilius all over again.

Damn.

Okay, new plan.

“How do you think she would go with Eastern style?” Stephen demanded, an absurdly brilliant plan coming together in his mind. Possibly it might even work.

“Well, I can-“ She paused, “Just try it, for Pete’s sake!”

“Right, right!” He babbled, even as he began to twist the threads, a sizzling net forming in his trembling fingers, “I can’t move it if it’ll hit-“

The cloak in an instant flew off his shoulders, flying like an avenging angel through the air. Swirling around the besieged trauma surgeon, it slid around her shoulders, knocking her petite frame to the asphalt with a violent snap of scarlet velvet and silk.

Before the darkness Christine’s efforts had been containing engulfed them all, the net was cast over its quarry. An inhuman yelp cut through the air, even as the screaming maelstrom surrounding the old crone rolled and rumbled beneath its entrapment.

Between one breath and the next, it all ceased. The plane fell silent, bar the spent gasps from all the concerned parties.

“Having to resort to trapping me like an animal?” She tutted, “Cassandra, I would have thought better of you.”

“Yeah, well, you know... Sometimes not killing your opponent or dying yourself sounds like a good idea.” She shrugged, “Might consider trying it yourself sometime.”

The elder Granny rolled her eyes, shifting uncomfortably beneath the pulsating spell, “Always too soft-hearted. Got that from your bitch of a mother.”

Stephen hated the words that were spewing from the crone’s mouth, but he couldn’t deny that he was grateful for the distraction the younger Granny was providing. A few more twists, and...

“DUCK!” He screamed, and from his hands the final spell erupted, colliding with an audible roar and sinking into the leathery skin with an icy blue glow.

Instantly, the rolling darkness evaporated like it had never existed. The vile heaviness that had permeated the air lifted, leaving only the flurries of snow floating gently down into the street.

IOIOIOIOI

It seemed like a dream.

The fire was warm, and The Cloak was draped protectively over her whilst she drifted in and out of consciousness. However, the pairs of eyes staring persistently at her made it impossible to remain in the blissful haze where she didn’t have to think about what the _hell_ had happened out in Queens.

“She shot first.” She mumbled sullenly, huddling further beneath her velvet protector.

“Of that, we don’t doubt for a second.” Stephen reassured, head leaning forward onto his scarred hands, “It was coordinated to make sure you were on your own. A chance to get back at us. Well, mainly back at me...”

“The question is how did someone like you, untrained beyond the most mundane of healing, hold off a centuries old Crone?” Wong posited, frustration evident in every inch of his frame, “It should have been _impossible._ I didn’t even think any of them still existed, let alone that they had made their way over to the States. _”_

Knowing that she wouldn’t be allowed to sleep until they had gotten to the bottom of it, she dragged herself upright, taking in the mildly panicked faces of the three other occupants of the room, “All I know is she confronted me, I could tell she was going to hit me with something a hell of a lot worse than a fist, and _boom,_ I had a shield- _thingy_ glowing in my hands, and a small encyclopaedia of the Mystic Arts in the back of my head, and no time to actually think about _how the hell_ said encyclopaedia got there. Now, I’m _exhausted,_ so do any of you guys have _any_ clue what happened tonight?” she paused, “And where is my beanie?”

“Beanie?” Wong asked, confused

“I made it for her.” Stephen enlightened the Librarian, “Even figured out how to weave in the ends. Eventually.”

 She huffed, “I’m going to be _so_ pissed if I’ve lost it thanks to that dear witchy bitch!”

“You’re welcome.” Stephen commented with a brief, relieved smile, “Check down the side- I didn’t take it off, but it might have slipped.”

Slightly embarrassed, she scrounged around beneath her, fingers probing for the precious garment. A knot in her stomach released when she finally managed to pull it out, “Thank heavens for that...”

“May I?” Wong asked, his brow furrowed.

Obligingly, Christine handed over the beanie, relieved to see it had survived the encounter unscathed, and now even more precious for the experience.

However, the librarian was looking at the garment like it was made of live snakes, “You say you made this for her, Strange?”

“Is there a law in the Mystic Arts against engaging in wholesome crafting activities?” He asked sarcastically.

Wong let out a strangled yelp, and the beanie began to levitate. Around it, layer after layer of spells and sigils began to glow, “There is when you end up accidentally creating one of the most _ridiculous_ relics I have ever seen!!”

The Cloak bristled at the insinuation.

“Oh shut up, you old carpet bag.” Wong snapped, “I have never, in all my years, in all my study and devotion to The Arts come across something like this! It’s _insane!”_

“It may be insane, but can I have it back?” Christine interrupted, “My head’s cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, just going to go and put myself in time out.  
> Once again, thanks for taking the time to read, kudos, comment and/or subscribe- it really is better than hugs!


	13. In Which a Decision is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, we need to be reminded of the things that truly matter.

He could feel himself losing his grip on reality.

It was almost between heartbeats, between sobs that he felt himself drawn into some Other space. Underneath him, exhausted limbs finally collapsed.

And strong, familiar hands caught him.

“Stephen...” She sighed, wrapping her arms around him, “Why try and save me if you’re only going to kill yourself in the process?”

“Because to not try would mean I’ve lost you...” he exhaled, his fingers grasping at her back.

“Well, you’ve most certainly got yourself into a situation this time, haven’t you?” The Ancient One remarked lightly, moving to his other side to help him up in a flurry of golden silk, “I didn’t expect you to have quite so much grey by this point.”

“At least I have hair.” He retorted automatically, slumping into one of the wrought iron chairs, “Oh...”

“Don’t worry, you’re not dead yet. Technically, none of us are.” She reassured with a quirk of her head, retaking her seat with an unconscious grace, “Or else, we always have been. A matter of perspective.”

“Really with the cryptic responses?” He groaned.

“Do you want my help or not?” She cautioned with a quirk of an eyebrow.

His hands went up in surrender, “Of course, Master.”

She chuckled, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call me that.”

A hand gently smacked his arm, “Really, Stephen? You went off and joined a cult, and couldn’t even be bothered to do it properly?”

“Not a cult.” He retorted automatically, “And you joined too.”

“Good point.” She conceded.

“If you two are quite done?” The Ancient One interjected. Sheepishly the pair nodded. She continued, not quite able to quench the twinkle in her eyes at their antics, “The first thing I must ask, is if you are willing to accept what Stephen is trying?”

She slumped down, “I have an inkling. Why this, Stephen?”

“It was the only possibility I could see with any chance whatsoever of working... It was nothing but _death_!” He explained, turning to his teacher, “I think I understand a bit now of how you felt...”

A long hand carded over her bare head, “I think the motivations here are at least slightly more altruistic.”

The trauma surgeon paused in confusion, before moving on, “Okay, so this-whatever this is-is pretty much my only hope.”

“Yup.” He said, the ‘p’ popping over his chapped lips.

She looked down to her hands, exhaling as the patterns dancing beneath her skin pulsed, “But at the end of it all, it won’t be me?”

“It depends on what you consider yourself to be, my dear... Are you the same woman who made the call to walk away from Stephen when your relationship was only bringing hurt to you both? And then to return when you both needed the strength of a tried and tested relationship? Are you the same girl who chose a career in medicine? Are you the same woman who will-did-try her best to save a strange woman who somehow wound up in your care?” The ancient one reasoned, “None of us are ever the same person we were in our pasts. Even the smallest of minutes can make the largest of differences.”

 She glanced across to Stephen, his face contorted with worry. So much of herself on the line, for an uncertain reward.

And then her eyes fixed on the peonies dancing in the breeze, their pink petals ablush in the sunlight. She remembered the day they had planted them, the tiny...

“We’re doing this.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, things are happening. To all the Kiwis out there, I hope you came through last night okay. It hurts to see you hurting, and 2016 really needs to back off. I wonder if we could convince Stephen to work some temporal manipulations over this disaster of a year...


	14. In Which there is An Arrival (And a Departure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wong has a favour, and Christine has an announcement.

 “Strange!” Came a shout from the Doorway.

Stephen groaned, turning from the door he was about to exit through, “Wong- like Madonna. How can I help you beyond expanding your knowledge of popular culture? Have you yet forgiven me for engaging in subversive crafting?”

The Librarian grimaced, “I have a problem. A family matter, so to speak.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “Continue.”

“My niece.”

“What about her?”

“Before I became a Master of the Arts, I was supposed to take over as head of my family’s business. Windows.” He began.

“Windows?” He blinked, surprised.

“Glass, with wooden frames, steel, aluminium. Sometimes we’d be really fancy and use plastic. You’d be surprised at just how much money is in the window trade. Our father was rather disappointed when I closed the door on his ambitions for me.”

“How do we solve a problem like...Sorry, got carried away there. Continue.”

Wong huffed in frustration, “As a result, my sister was corralled into taking over the company. And whilst she has exceeded everyone’s expectations, especially my father’s, she has not let me forget that I owe her one for stepping up when I was not willing to and saving the family from dishonour.”

“And she’s calling in the favour?” Stephen surmised, eyeing the flustered man before him.

“Huilang is a typical twenty-something. But she is supposedly too Western, and risking the family’s honour with her ‘uncouth’ behaviour.”

“So, what? Send her to a Monastery, hope she will see the error of her ways, and release her back into the wild? How practically medieval.” Stephen snarked, quickly relenting at the miserable expression on his friend’s face, “So why do you need my help?”

“You remember how the Ancient One showed you The Arts?”

“Not likely to forget it any time soon. Or ever.”

“I need you to do that. To Huilang.”

Stephen blinked, “You know as well as I do that I’m nowhere near at a level to pull that stunt off.”

“You defeated Dormammu!” Wong retorted.

“For starters, at that point I had The Eye, and...” Stephen turned, coming face to face with an expression on the Librarian’s face far more pathetic than any he could have come up with in his wildest dreams, “That is _not_ playing fair!”

“Come on! Scare the girl onto the straight and narrow, you get to have a bit of fun, and my family will leave me in peace. Everybody wins.”

“Fine. I want an extra book shipment this week, and I want my overdue fees waived. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find emu oil in America?”

“Yes. That is why I impose it as a late fee.”

IOIOIOIOI

Her hair was a black waterfall down her back, as she sauntered into the main atrium of the Sanctum. Tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, she looked just as unimpressed to be there as Stephen was to see the interloper in his home.

Perhaps it was a pathetic attempt to keep in the spirit of the holidays, but he mustered up a smile, and moved to greet the girl, “Feng Huilang?”

“You know the Chinese customs.” She noted, taking the offered hand with her own carefully manicured fingers, “I apologise that you’ve been dragged into the midst of this family feud. Though I must say, this looks nothing like a monastery.”

“Yeah, we skimped a bit on the monastery-ness of this one.” Stephen mock grimaced, “You should see the other ones. They’ve got the whole shebang happening, right down to the gurus.”  

“I’m guessing you’ve been told to scare me back into my good, Chinese ways?” She surmised, painted lips pursed as she took him in, Cloak and all.

He shrugged, “It’s getting me out of some overdue loans with your uncle.” At that, the cloak reached up to thwap him in the back of the head, still fuming at how their rescue mission not even twenty four hours earlier had played out, despite his (and Christine’s) reassurances that they were both unscathed from disarming the psychopathic crone.

The girl paused, a tiny crack appearing in her overly manicured veneer, “Did that cloak just-?”

“Yup.” He confirmed, popping the p with relish, “It’s being a bit of a jerk about forgiving me for my recent transgressions.”

“Not special effects?” She checked.

“Not this time.”

“Show me more.” She demanded, dropping the handbag and moving across the polished floor as her eyes came alight.

“...Okay.”

And the world dropped away, twisting and twirling, as he guided the astral projection down through the dimensions, trying to be at least a bit more even handed than the Ancient One. His ears were filled with the sound of the girl’s heartbeat thundering in her throat, and he could feel the pulses of emotion flowing off her as he led her deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.

He didn’t have anywhere near the practise of his lost teacher, so it was a matter of seconds before they were back in the Atrium, the jade parquetry glittering in the late afternoon light streaming in through the front door.  

“You okay?” He asked uncertainly.

“You’re kidding, right?” She demanded, spinning around in a flail of coat and jacket, “You just showed me the freakin’ _source code_ of the entirety of existence, and you ask me if I’m okay?!”

“That? Just the taster.”

“I’m staying.”

IOIOIOIOI

His study was warm with the fire he refused to let bank as the temperature plummeted. She gratefully accepted the tea Stephen offered, examining the Sorcerer over the rim of her cup, “You do know why my parents wanted me to come here?”

“Wong didn’t tell me much, but seems like your mother was holding his participation over his head.”

“Pretty much.” She shrugged, “I transferred to a science computing major instead of business, I refuse to answer the door to any of the rich men they send to woo me, and I have yet to tell them in exacting detail what my life plan-up until the second I die, I might add, is, and they’re terrified it involves not heading back to Shigatse the day after graduation to take my ‘rightful place’ in the family business.”

“And does it?” He prompted, the cloak swirling self-importantly up and down the room until he fixed it with a glare.

“Rich men? Well, men in general. Really, _really_ not my area. Business?” She snorted, “I have no mind for it. My bank account ends up empty most months, and I can’t even think about what classes to take for the rest of semester, let alone plotting the rest of my life.”

“I can’t, in good faith, let you in here just to give you an out. You know that, right?” He said with a sigh, leaning forward to examine the young woman, “Especially if it’s just an excuse for you to avoid heading home once your time in America is done.”

She shifted, “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. But you pulled out the freaking _source code_ of the universe like it was nothing more than making a piece of toast.”

“We lose people.” He stated lowly, “Many go insane from trying to deal with all we encounter here. There are definitely friendly realities there, but there are so many unfriendly ones, and I’ve seen friends killed trying to defend this one. What I’m trying to say, and what _my_ teacher, despite having an extensive amount of time to perfect her speech never _quite_ got around to saying, is that we can show you the inner workings of the universe, and the spells to harness that source code, but the cost could be your soul, your sanity, or your life.”

“Uncle Wong wanted you to scare me off.” She noted, “Not working.”

“Damn.”

IOIOIOIOI

“She’s well enough to join the next intake.” Christine noted with a smile, watching as Cassie wandered in the twilight-bathed gardens below.

Stephen nodded, a soft smile on her face, “Completely healed, minimal scarring, and no visible signs of harm from our adventure last night. Of all that can be said of her, she is most definitely resilient.”

“I’m going with her.” She exhaled suddenly, her head snapping to look at him, “Goddamnit, that’s not how I wanted to tell you...”

“What?” He blinked, brain trying to catch up with what she had said.

“I talked to Wong, and to Master Drumm. Some of the disciples-well, most of the ones who have spent any time here. It’s been something I’ve been umm-ing and ahh-ing-” She paused in her rambling, inhaling, “You changed... _so_ much whilst you were away-“

“For the better?” He asked, not letting on just how nervous he was for the answer.

She smirked, “Oh definitely. But... That’s the problem. You’re walking in this strange, _amazing_ new world, and I can really only walk so far beside you with the skills I currently have without being a _major_ risk factor. Sure, you had your high-flying, stupidly overachieving career before, but at _least_ we were able to work as a team in the operating theatre. But all of a sudden, these skills I have...they’re really not good enough.”

“So..?”

“So...I need to be able to go all the way. With you. To stand and fight beside you in this weird, screwed up world without you panicking every second that I’m just a muggle who’s more likely to be shish-kebabed than survive to our next fancy dinner out together. And as much as I love my beanie, I had no clue what the hell I was trying to do last night. For all I know, I crashed an entire plane of existence with my fumbling, and that’s _really_ not good form for a doctor.” She pursed her lips before continuing, “Besides, it’s not as if I can really go back to the hospital whilst one of our sworn enemies is holding the keys to the castle.”

Even though his mind was reeling, and his heart felt like it was glass about to shatter into a million pieces, he managed to quip; “Oh definitely not. Just imagine the copays he’d force on you...”

She let out a choked giggle.

“So you’re going to Kamar Taj?” He confirmed, his chest suddenly hollow.

“To learn the Mystic Arts.” She agreed, fingers wiggling, “And then, I’m coming back here.”

His heart leapt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a massive thanks for taking the time to read! Your feedback, subscriptions and kudos are truly awesome <3


	15. In Which a Decision is Reached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning translucent is highly unnerving.

Nervously, Christine moved to stand in the centre of the courtyard, the cloak hovering worried and frustrated nearby.

“Firstly, we really must see what we’re working with.” The Ancient One stated, her long, elegant fingers dancing in the air and weaving some of the most complex sigils either doctor had seen. With a sharp snap, the younger woman was translucent.

It took an astounding amount of self-control not to panic. Compared to the localised spells she used on almost a daily basis, this entire body desaturation was rather terrifying. Especially when she looked down to where the blast had hit her, and was finally able to grasp the full extent of the wreckage that had been wrought on her body. There didn’t seem to be a single organ which had been spared, and she was rather glad she was currently cut off from the inputs of her corporal form.

“I should have been dead before I hit the ground...” She muttered.  

Even the Ancient One looked slightly shaken.  
“Indeed.” She agreed, a glance over to the pale, panicked Strange, “Now to have a look at what spells are playing into this shmozzle.”

The web of spells that sprung into visibility was blinding.

“...Okay...” The Sorceress said with a quirk of her head, “I’m rather impressed, Stephen.”

“Well, you know...” He shrugged sheepishly.

But Christine’s eyes had fixated on one spell in particular, “Am I able to project?”

“I’ve never had reason to attempt it myself in this space.” The Ancient One admitted, gesturing for her to try.

The sensation was even more unsettling than the first time she had projected, an uncomfortable ripping akin to tugging too hard at barely healed stitches and it left her strangely itchy. She quickly floated around her suspended body, quickly finding the anomaly, and enlarging it for the others to see.

“That’s...Not good...” Stephen stated shakily, “You know I-“

“It’s an interference spell. From how deep it’s woven, it’s been in there for years. Possibly since before I left for Kamar Taj. ”

“Could that have been why...?”

She shuddered, twisting the strange Celtic knot out, “Possibly. That’s her mark there, and it would be just like that-”

What little colour in the Ancient One’s face had drained.

“You okay?” Stephen probed.

“That signature... I haven’t seen it in centuries. Not since I was a little girl.” She exhaled deeply, “I take it you’ve met Meghara.”

The couple exchanged an alarmed look. Christine, being the more skilled at imagery, quickly coalesced an image of the witch, “Is this her?”

“Time has worn her, but I would recognise those eyes anywhere. The last time I saw them was as she held a claidemah to my throat.” She recalled.

Stephen’s lips pursed, “We know her as Camarda.”

“Unsurprising her name has changed. We came from a time when a woman was rarely permitted her autonomy. It was only because I chose my path I escaped such a fate. You know, she never found it within herself to forgive me? In half a millennia, it was beyond her.”

“So...family?” Stephen surmised.

“In a way...It’s all so long ago, and both of us were irreversibly changed by our encounters. We both chose such vastly different paths, diverged from what was expected of us. It just so happens that how I found my peace drove her to destruction. I’ve always wondered, throughout the years if there was something I could have done...”

“From experience, there never is.” Stephen said sadly.

“Regardless, the presence of this spell changes things. And not for the better.” She began to twist the threads of reality, slowly endeavouring to extract the spell.

The minutes dragged like leaden weights.

“It’s times like this we need Cassie.” Stephen stated frustratedly, watching the frown on his mentor’s face grow ever deeper, weariness seeping into her usually proud frame.

“Can we call her in?” Christine questioned, wincing as she felt the threads tugging stubbornly at her soul. Damn that psycho bitch.

“I regret that bringing anyone else in at this late stage may result in the loss of us all.” The Ancient One stated firmly, her eyes fixated on the snarled spell, “Regardless, this language is still familiar, despite how long it has been since I have used it. It was, in truth, the first language of spells I learned, and it is so dreadfully hard to forget your first.”

And then, she flicked her finger into the centre of the spell, and it shattered like glass. Her legs quickly gave out from under her.

“I’ve done all I can. You _can_ bring this together, Stephen. You must. Whatever form it takes from hereon out, this is the path. ”

“And you have my permission. Whatever you need to do, just _promise_ me I won’t lose you in the process?”

He nodded.

And with a swirl of crimson velvet, everything exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Been quite a bit longer than I'd like between posting, but I'm back! Been attending a conference this week, and as it has involved having my mind blasted open every single day, I've been coming home and falling asleep. But it's definitely given me more ideas which you might see sneaking in. To everyone who's read, subscribed, commented and kudos'd- THANK YOU!!! Stay tuned, hopefully the next update won't be quite as badly delayed!


	16. In Which Muscle Memory is either a good or bad thing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine arrives at Kamar Taj. Just because you travel instantly, doesn't mean there is no jet lag.

The rucksack was well worn and heavy over her shoulder. Despite knowing that her everyday clothes would quickly be cast aside for the garb of a Disciple, a few items had still found their way into the old bag, hastily packed in the brief, nervous sojourn back to her apartment.

It hadn’t truly hit her until she stood, Cassie on one side, and the new girl Huilang on the other, before the door to Kamar-Taj that she had faced off against a magic user of the highest order, survived, and would, in a matter of seconds, be standing in the Himalayas looking at months of training to ensure she didn’t die the next time. The future in which she had imagined rising up to Chief of Trauma was now replaced with a far more uncertain outlook.

Cassie reached over, grasping her hand, a far more meagre satchel of belongings clutched tightly in the other. A pulse ran through the room, and the door opened.

IOIOIOIOI

Master Drumm stood tall in the courtyard, only the intricate staff he unobtrusively leant against belaying the fact that he had been on the cusp of death less than three months earlier. The former Master of New York exuded a calm steadiness which contrasted bizarrely with the nervous tension of the assembled novices that made up the winter planned intake of new Disciples.

Unlike the unscheduled (if not unforseen) arrival of Stephen and the others seeking reprieve from the various demons of the mundane world, the group Christine found herself standing within was mainly drawn from the families who were part of the extensive network of sorcerers throughout the planet. One boy, with a silvery shimmer to his skin when he failed to concentrate properly, had come from off world, or so Mia, a young girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen had eagerly divulged in halting English.

Many of the rest were Migrant kids, often picked up half starved as they attempted the treacherous journey to find parents who had set out years ago in search of a better future for them and their families, only to disappear without a trace into the mechanisms of the Big Cities. More than once since the night she had turned up on Stephen’s doorstep, Christine had been called on to help treat the new arrivals. A few of the bolder ones gave her tentative smiles as the New Yorkers took their place at the back of the assembled novices.  

“Welcome,” Drumm began, “Today, we begin your proper instruction in the Mystic Arts. Many of you know of our work to protect our planet, and others. Others of you do not. Our task is not one taken lightly. What you learn here will help to shape the very fabric of reality. Some of you may choose to join the front lines, others may not. Whichever path you walk from here, there will be dangers. I cannot deny that. But the rewards are great too. Let us begin.”

IOIOIOI

At the end of her first month, Christine was shattered. Her limbs ached, her brain hurt and she wasn’t sure her mind would calm at all. Any fat she had on her body was lost to the bitter cold and constant movement learning The Arts involved. She collapsed gratefully onto the bed, surprised at just how soft it was. She had been expecting hard pallets in shared dormitories. Figured that she’d joined a cult with a slight hedonistic bent.

A sharp knock at the door made her groan. Reluctantly she dragged herself upright, blearily examining the young man at her door. The pile of cloth in his hands looked suspiciously cult-like. And not Novice White.

“Rintrah, Ma’am. Apprentice weaver.” He introduced himself, “I come bearing your new uniforms?”

She somehow mustered a weary smile, moving aside for her guest to enter, “Sorry, I was nearly asleep... Are you really fuzzy?”

“As are most of us at this point.” He reassured, “I am wearing a minor glamour. I find my appearance tends to startle those who have yet to become accustomed to the peculiarities of this place.”

“Please don’t on my part.” She reassured, managing to contain her surprise to a raised eyebrow as the glamour faded. The closest reference she could come up with was a minotaur, and a rather handsome one at that.

“Much better.” He said, “It is rather frustrating to work that particular spell- it itches like a pox- but unfortunately remains a necessary evil. Now, let us get this sorted before you collapse from exhaustion. These first few weeks always seems to drain everyone.”

“What do you have for me?”

With a flourish, he began to pull the bundle apart, “Slip, tunic, pants, arm wraps, thick socks, boots, and as it has been such a fierce winter, a proper coat which will last you well beyond your time here. Unfortunately, not one as mystical as Doctor Strange’s, but it will serve its purpose. Nothing, of course, that will impede your grounding within the Mystic Arts- unlike your head apparel, which Master Enitharmon is particularly eager to examine.”

Her fingers traced over the fabrics, mouth falling open at the opulence of the fibres, “Sure...I think I understand why Stephen doesn’t like wearing civilian clothes anymore...”

A smile came over Rintrah’s face, “Silk, Nepalese hemp, ramie, cashmere and yak. All produced locally. Even in the Novice designs such as these, they provide a level of elegance. In many ways we are blessed to have such fine textiles to work with. My home is restricted to far harsher fabrics than these. They do the job, but there are times when I practise my craft at home that I wish these were readily available.”

It didn’t take long to try on the various garments, Rintrah offering help where needed with the unfamiliar bindings and wrappings, different from the support bandaging of the ER, and far more complex than the simplistic uniform she was upgrading from.

“How do I look?” She asked, feeling mildly embarrassed, and pulling the high collared purple overcoat tighter around herself.

“Like you were born to be here.” He replied, ears perking as the sound of thudding feet came down the corridor.

The door burst open, and Cassie stumbled in, “Attack. Manilla.”

“Casualties?” Christine demanded, pulling on her beanie and grabbing the kit on the desk before speeding out of the room. Any trace of exhaustion was swept away by years of training.

“Nine here. More coming.” The granny witch confirmed. Manilla, whilst not a Sanctum in its own right, was one of the key outposts for the Mystic Arts in the Pacific, and were keeping New York’s protection going whilst London recovered, “We’re trying to contact Auckland and Newcastle, but no reply.”

“Any word from Stephen?”

“He brought in the first group. It’s not pretty.”

Running into the infirmary through the sterilising spells, the Masters Valvano were already triaging the patients. Emmitt was setting up monitoring charms, even as Andria’s mandalas began to sink down into the injuries.

“Mundane injuries, _go!”_ Andria ordered the second she noted the new arrivals, before turning to the man, and trying to extract the brutally cursed fireball smouldering in his shoulder.

On the mundane front, things weren’t much better. Glancing at the monitoring charms, she quickly went for the amber mandala, pulsing like a flare. The girl underneath it had a massive slice through her leg, mercifully unconscious but deathly pale.

Three spells- control the bleeding, reinforce the block on the femoral artery, and pain relief. Thank heavens for the spell-enforced sterile field. Gloves, tools. Great. Assess. Not good. What was happening inside?

The spells they had been working on that week floated into her mind, and with a quick flick, she desaturated the obstructing tissues. Still there, but now she could see what the hell was happening. Nerves were severed. Cleanly, thank Agamotto. But the artery itself was a torn mess, and the bone had been shattered brutally- well beyond what a plate would be able to heal. Not that she had a plate handy.

She set to work, cleaning the wound, removing the shards of bone, and grimacing at the sheer amount filling up the kidney dish. A frission of though had her pausing, before examining the shards.

_Perhaps..._

The latticework of the spell cradled the remaining femur gently, and cajoled by the spell, the shards reluctantly slid back into place, before she _tugged,_ pulling the bone back together. It was far from healed, but the spell would hold for long enough that the body could endeavour to fix the damage. If it didn’t work, she would come back to it-now she at least had the time to sort it. Stitches to pull the muscles and veins together, support it with the spells, and nudge that nerve to regenerate.

Next.

Head trauma.

Damn, Stephen. Could have used you.

Transparentise the layers, Pressure, function, neural damage. Vent the pressure, okay. Haematoma growing deep- fix the artery, reduce the clot. Probe the neural damage-give the body a nudge to work around the damage. Done. Close up. Scrub down again.

Time ceased to matter in the fugue state she entered- automatically working on each patient, dealing with the broken forms, the spells strangely like muscle memory as they augmented her physical work.

“Christine?”

The voice of the Master of New York pierced through, and she was baffled to find herself standing in the middle of the Infirmary, every monitoring spell pulsing a reassuring green or yellow. She could sort of remember...

Her legs gave out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter- it's been a lot of rewriting to get it flowing properly! Your reviews, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks mean the world to me, so once again, thank you so much for taking the time to read and give feedback :)


	17. In Which there is much confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What??

The memory of being _apart_ persisted. Fingers slipping over her warp...

Strange, this gender thing.

Fingers.

Also weird.

Fingers which could heal. Part of her was elated at the thought of having such peculiar extensions. The other part rolled her metaphorical eyes, more baffled by the strange sensation of her pile standing on end. It felt far different from hair.

_Hair._

Hair was like pile but not.

Really not. Or so the other part disagreed, recalling the sensation of the wind blowing through it on nights when Stephen had taken them up the Empire State. The sensation of being caught in the wind up there, of an instinctive magic to hold on, _protect_ themushimwewho?

Right.

So this was it?

She was...

Were...

 

 

...What!?

 

 


	18. In Which there is Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Christine's infirmary escapades.

The sickly yellow light filtered through her eyes and into her throbbing brain. Not since the The Incident had she felt so wrung out, and that had been three days straight on shift.

“Christine?” Came Stephen’s soft voice.

She kept her eyes stubbornly shut, “Not waking up. They might kick me out of Hogwarts. I _like_ Hogwarts...”

His low, rumbling chuckle filled the air, “I think they may want to hug you instead.”  

“Can I get a hug from you? Later...”

And she was unconscious again.

IOIOIOIOI

The next time she awoke, the scent of thick, salty broth was in the air, and she was starving. Reluctantly, she began to force her eyes open, wincing as they stung with the intrusion of reality. The first thing she noted was the only non-optimal monitor was hers. The second was The Cloak, draped protectively over her body, warm and reassuring. The third was the owner of said garment, who was watching her pensively from the doorway. The source of that heavenly smell was in his hands, and she almost sobbed at the sight.

“Do you need a hand to sit up?” He asked as soon as he realised she had returned to the land of the living.

She nodded, surprised when even that small action was draining, “What the hell did I do to myself?”

“Worked straight for twelve hours, and pioneered an entire new branch of healing. When Andria realised what you were _somehow_ doing, they started putting the ones they didn’t think they could save in front of you, and you were manipulating the threads of reality in ways they had never even considered.”

“How many did we lose?”

“Two dead in Manilla. Luckily we got reinforcements through to the other outposts in time to prevent anyone else dying. But there would have been far more dead if you hadn’t done what you were doing.”

She blushed, forcing herself to take a sip of the heavenly soup, “I don’t think I _realised_ what I was doing...”

“I think you’re wrong on that one.”

IOIOIOIOI

“All right, can you walk me through what you did with Effie?” Andria asked the next day, Stephen hovering worriedly in the background. She was still only in a simple robe whilst everything she had worn was cleaned of the debris even the wards hadn’t been able to deflect, and the chill of the room seeped into her feet.

Christine’s eyes widened when the healer pulled back the covers on the still sedated woman, a thin scar the only sign that the limb had been sliced open barely forty eight hours. “Right...I evacuated the debris, couldn’t see the damage at first, so I used...” Her fingers quickly spun the charm, more intricate than the version Stephen had used the first time he had crashed into her emergency department, and the muscles faded from view, showing where the binding spell still glowed, “Then this spell to keep the bone in place, and...” She shrugged, the muscles and skin slowly slipped back into perception.

Emmitt tried to stop his mouth from falling open, and failed.

“How did we not think to do that?!” Andria fumed, eyes peering at the limb, “Not a cell out of place, and the bone is practically healed...I have a feeling I should hand in my stethoscope and do the pine nuts thing for a few years.”

“Can you run the spell, _slowly?_ “ Stephen instructed, eyeing the flabbergasted healers.

A frown crossed the trauma surgeon’s face, and she glanced down at his hands, “I can show more with a more complex structure?”

He steeled himself, nodding, and holding out his damaged appendages. The layers of the perceptive charm slowly coalesced into the air, and she half noted the frantic scribbling of the other two healers. However, the damaged limbs held the majority of her attention. It broke her heart, looking through her current eyes to see where they had messed up, surgery after surgery leaving the nerves barely able to transmit, the tendons disorganised and barely holding the joints in place. With a flick of her hand, the muscles reappeared, and she could have sobbed. The cells were fibrosed, dull, hard and unmoving when they should have been pliant and nimble, shining bright like their owner.

This damage was old. The year since the initial accident had seen his body try desperately, vainly to heal the trauma. Last night, the injuries had been minutes old, maybe hours at most.

“I can heal this.” She suddenly realised, the shape of the spells dancing in the back of her wrists, the diagnostic spells dropping as her eyes widened in shock and panic, “Like, properly heal. Oh _god...”_

Stephen felt like a wrecking ball had slammed into his chest. The previous twelve months of searching desperately for a cure, and here it was, offered up by his best friend, previous and (ninety nine percent likely) future partner. How ironic, to find it when he was so far beyond needing the fulfilment, the return of self it had once represented.

But looking at his partner, he could see the terror that was in her, “Speak to me, Christine.”

“You were so worried, and I can _see_ it- where we made it worse-oh god, so much _worse!_ But it’s your _hands_ , and you’re _you,_ not that you, and I just can’t....”

“Sit.” Emmitt ordered, pressing a stool behind her.

She slumped onto the overly plush cushion, burying her face in her hands, “It’s so simple when I think of it- how did I not _think-?!_ ”

“Christine!” He yelled, “Stop!”

She looked like he had slapped her.

“It’s a panic attack! You’ve got nothing to be upset about. _I_ did this to myself- not you, not the other doctors. I was too desperate for a cure, and I couldn’t see the damage I was inflicting on you as I chased a cure which shouldn’t exist.”

“But I can _do_ it!”

“And I’ve been at this for decades, and I have no clue what you’re seeing.” Andria interrupted sharply, “We still stitch what is mundane, a few _very_ complex spells to accelerate healing, monitor health. We can’t save limbs or repair nerves. We work around them. We use magic to create paths around the damage. You walked in here, and you were able to speak a language none of us have spoken before. I doubt even _she_ could have done a fraction of what you did last night.”

“I...” the tunnelling which was threatening to engulf her vision began to recede.

“Tell me what happened there?” Emmitt offered.

“I can see how to do it. It’s like a dam. It’s automatic, I almost did it without thinking... Oh God, what kind of doctor does that make me?!” She babbled, calming slightly when her hands were grasped with all the strength her partner could manage.

“Would you think less of me if part of me wanted you to do it?” Stephen asked.

“I can _feel_ the hurt.” She admitted, “Whatever _this_ is, I can feel it...I would think you were crazy if you didn’t want it fixed. Properly fixed, not a workaround. The pain wouldn’t be gone with a workaround, not with this damage...Please?”

Once again, Stephen found himself on a precipice. The calling to the Arts echoed deep in his veins. It had barely been a whisper when he had arrived, but now it thrummed, louder than the siren’s call of the operating theatre and the accolades held within ever could. And Christine’s seemed to run deeper, maybe stimulated by the relic he had inadvertently given, but definitely something intrinsic to the amazing woman he somehow was lucky enough to have in his life. She had trusted him with his gifts, followed him with barely the surface understanding of what she was getting into. How could he not do the same?

 


	19. In Which the Door Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting is painful.

The hours ticked by; time, already unreliable within the house, seeming to drip like cold treacle, entrapping everyone within it. The injured were treated as best as possible, and once cleared, joined the vigil outside the door.

Huilang was furious, her booted heels snapping on the hardwood floor as she paced, the pistol on her flank snapping its safety just as ferociously.  How the _hell_ had it come to this? Standing on the wrong side of a door, hands tied, no option to get revenge on the vile, impotent-

She inhaled.

Exhaled.

Inhaled again

-Scummy _wank bastards_ who thought they could do this to their _home!_ Not only did they see fit to continue with their campaign of terrorization of _her_ city, but they left a trail of interdimensional muckupery behind them. God knows how badly this particular escapade had frayed the fabric of reality, and if she was perfectly honest, she wasn’t looking forward to examining what the hell her monitors had to say when she eventually got the nerve to look-

She inhaled. Deeply.

Exhaled to the count of ten.

Inhaled.

-Because god knows it was going to be _bad_ and the only people with even a hope of sorting it out were emotional _wrecks_ or stuck behind a door where they were _contributing_ to said interdimensional muckupery in new and exciting ways never seen in mystic or scientific communities before, and, admittedly, if anyone was going to pull it of, it would most certainly be the New York team, but if they _didn’t_ -

“Can you freak out a little bit more quietly?” Cassie suggested through grit teeth.

-O _kay..._

IOIOIOIOI

The sickly light of dawn slowly trickled through the Anomaly Rue, signalling an end to the hellish night before. At least the chances of another attack declined drastically with the rising of the sun. Looking at the battered Disciples crowing the corridor outside the Asylum, Wong knew with a heavy heart they would not be able to weather another attack. Not with that door shut. Not with their current casualty load

He knew what he should be doing. There were letters of condolence to write. Calling the outposts, checking they had not been targeted as well, pulling through reinforcements, and sending the wounded back to Kamar Taj in hopes Emmit and Andria might be able to treat them better than the piecemeal efforts they had managed here. Though he strongly doubted he would have any hope of getting any of them to move-heck, he couldn’t even get himself to move.

_Click._

The ancient hinges howled as they pivoted the cumbersome slab of mahogany aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2017, everyone!! This one has been a bit longer coming than I would have liked, but Huilang started shouting, and the result is an update :) . Major thanks to everyone who has kudosed, commented, bookmarked and subscribled- you guys mean the world to me, and keep me on track! If you've liked this update, drop me a line?

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you for taking the time to read! Any feedback or Kudos would be most gratefully received!


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